The arrival of Hugo

This time last week it was finally beginning, after 10 days of waiting the contractions were starting for real. And in just over 4 hours I was holding my baby boy in my arms – all 4.35kg or 9 pound 9 ounce of him.

It was definitely one of those ‘worth the wait’ moments as the overdue angst of the past almost 2 weeks were washed away, along with the fears I carrried about this labour and my unborn child.

I think birth stories are either a ‘love them or hate them’ type thing, sometimes diminishing into ‘this happened’ and then ‘that happened’ type affair that does nothing to capture the specialness of the process and the moment, so I won’t go into the ins and outs of the whole labour and birth. Continue reading

The 'Swizzle'

Despite my pinings to the universe (via this blog and twitter, predominantly!), I’ve been sitting around here in post-date pregnancy land for the past eight days.

There was some action this time last week and I thought that I’d be spared the lengthy ‘lady in waiting’ stint I endured last pregnancy, but I just ended up vomitting with a few sporadic contractions and ended up pretty badly dehydrated, unable to keep food or liquid down.

At my midwife appointment last Friday, this baby of mine had an elevated heart beat and so did I due to the dehydration. I felt if I went into labour that I wouldn’t be in any state to get through it. I was strapped to the heart rate monitor for over an hour, but as I managed to keep down more water his heart rate improved and the machine registered a few low grade contractions as well, so I felt I could go ‘any time’. Continue reading

Immortalising the bump and slowing down

It’s almost 10am on Monday morning and I’m enjoying my first week of maternity leave. Yee-ha!

It feels weird to be sitting at my laptop at home, without the boy here, morning television droning in the background and a lovely autumn-tinged breeze coming in the back door. Nice-weird though.

I was planning on dashing down to Ikea to grab nick-nack items for the boys rooms – some fabric, another set of curtains, some frames – but I am knackered and I really don’t feel like the 45 minute drive and the wandering around. Perhaps after a nana nap? We’ll see. I’ve decided this time is for taking it easy. I am heeding the advice of that voice in my head that is telling me to ‘just slow down’. Continue reading

A mad dash to the finish line

Things have hit a frenetic pace here in the last week or so. I am now nearing the 37 1/2 weeks pregnant mark (I guess half weeks are relevant at this point) and I’m on a nesting frenzy. I never experienced this with pregnancy number one, so it’s kind of caught me off guard.

Those who know me well know that my household cleaning standards are pretty relaxed. I’m not a pig, but I don’t sweat a bench that’s not spotless, a couple of things that need to be washed up, or a few items of clothes on the bedroom floor. But now? Watch out, rogue crumb on the bench! Is that a speck of dust on the floor? Quick somebody hold me back! I suddenly have the urge to dust all the picture rails and frame tops.

And everything must be done now. At a blistering fast pace (well as blistering fast as a 37 1/2 week pregnant lady can manage). So this is how clean freaks feel everyday of the week? It’s a mix of virtuous self-congratulations and a eagle-eyed state of readiness. Continue reading

Farewelling the fear

I’ve been thinking alot lately about my inner fears, those tip-tapping thoughts that have kept me awake some nights during this pregnancy.

The fears that probably stop me writing about my hopes and dreams for this pregnancy and the baby boy I’ll be welcoming in around eight weeks time.

You see, last pregnancy I felt like a goddess. I was blooming, full of hope and wonder about what my body was doing and was capable of. I went to yoga weekly and got in touch with my baby from early on in the pregnancy, I read about pregnancy and birth and I felt educated and in awe of this life-changing event that was taking place.

This time, not so much. Sure, I’ve felt well for the majority of the time and at 32 weeks I don’t yet feel too massive and have been taking walks around my neighbourhood, while work and running after the boy keeps me busy.

But the fear, it’s always there. The fear, not of the birth itself – though that is sometimes there too – but of the aftermath … replaying in my head the moment that I found out that my perfect baby boy that I’d held in my arms for a few hours at that point wasn’t as perfect as I thought.

Continue reading